Like Ray and his children, and the women near Gonzales, the kid and his mother had restored a little of my faith in humanity. Well, at the very least, they had opened up the road so I could access Jill’s house.
Finally, my baby’s within reach.
Chapter
13
“I hope you appreciate the situation. Things have gone south, no doubt. But you know… it won’t end well.” – Darcy, Green Room (2015)
Once most of the undead horde had vacated the street, I drove slowly toward my mother-in-law’s house, trying to avoid the detection of any lingering zombies. But naturally, I found it difficult to refrain from stepping on the gas as I neared my destination.
During the course of our entire seventeen-year relationship, Clare and I had only been apart for about a month, all told, but never more than a week at a time. One summer, I traveled to Alaska for a fishing excursion with my father and brothers, and a few years later, Clare ventured to Yellowstone on a travel-writing press trip without me. Both weeks had felt like the longest of my life, but neither compared to the past day. It seemed like a fucking eternity since I’d seen my wife or heard her voice, and I didn’t want to wait one second longer.
I pulled into Jill’s driveway, which lined her entire property, from the front lawn to the back of her modest, three-bedroom house. Although I’d always had a less-than-stellar relationship with my mother-in-law, I had to admit… she’d taken good care of her home, routinely mowing the grass, weeding the flower beds, and pressure-washing the brick-and-siding exterior.
So, regardless of all the insanity that had transpired since Halloween night, it startled me to see her property in its present state. The front lawn resembled the muddy, torn-up aftermath of a tractor pull. All the windows sported cracks or sizable holes, and several wooden shutters lay on the ground. The place had definitely taken a beating, thanks to numerous unwelcome visitors of the relentless undead variety. I only hoped Clare had survived the apparent mob scene.
After parking behind the hatchback that Clare had borrowed from a friend, I assured Azazel I’d be right back, grabbed my shotgun and my go-bag, checked the windows and mirrors for any nearby interlopers, and jumped down from the van.
Before I’d even shut and locked the door, I spotted Clare running around the corner of the house and down the driveway. Knowing her, I figured she’d heard the honking horn, watched the mass undead exodus via one of the broken windows, and waited until our zombie-mobile appeared before making her move.
Given all the craziness I’d experienced without her – and all the terrible moments during which I’d contemplated her probable demise – I could hardly describe my overwhelming emotions at seeing her again. Ever the frugal hoarder, she wore tattered jeans and an ancient T-shirt she’d owned since high school. Her dark brown hair hung limply around her pale face. As usual, she wore no makeup, and her brown eyes revealed the stress and fatigue of the past three days. But she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Simply because she was my baby, my Clare, and she was fucking alive.
As soon as our eyes met, her face exploded with happiness and relief. I’d never seen her move so quickly as she sprinted along the driveway, between the vehicles, and into my open arms. My muscles felt so weak from pain and fatigue that she almost knocked me over as she collided against my torso, but I held my ground, hugging her tightly and kissing her lips as hungrily as I ever had before.
While standing in my mother-in-law’s driveway, holding my wife, and kissing her deeply, I felt the tension in my chest dissipate. Whatever we’d face in the new undead world, we would face it together. Despite all the financial woes, health scares, and other stresses we’d encountered during our marriage, we’d always been unstoppable together. And we always would be.
Eventually, though, all the passion and relief evident in her embrace morphed into uncontrollable weeping, and as she pulled her lips from mine, I noticed tears flooding her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.
I have that effect on women.
“When everything went to hell,” she whispered between sniffs and sobs, “and I couldn’t reach you, I thought you were lost like the rest of New Orleans. I didn’t want to lose hope, so I tried to keep going anyway, but honestly… I wasn’t sure how long I’d last in a world without you.”
I gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Oh, baby, I had the same exact thought, but we’re both fighters. We’ve always been stronger than we think.” I kissed her forehead. “And remember… it’s you and me forever. Till the wheels come off.” A grin spread across my face. “And long after that.”
Despite her reddened eyes, dribbling tears, and crinkled brow, she finally managed to smile. As always, making Clare happy or at least putting her mind at ease was the most important thing to me, and seeing the radiant joy in her face was the only sunshine I required.
Well, maybe not the only sunshine. I’m pretty sure we’d all freeze to death if her face was the only source… Yep, I have a way of killing these romantic moments.
“I’m just so glad you’re OK,” she said. Her nose crinkled, and a mischievous glint lit up her eyes. “But, Jesus, you could use a shower.”
I laughed, recalling how filthy my clothes had gotten during my trek. I hadn’t taken a proper shower in at least three days, and I undoubtedly reeked of blood, sweat, and zombie foulness. Normally, I might’ve apologized for such a stinky state – for Clare’s sake anyway – but taking the time to freshen up hadn’t even occurred to me. Once reaching Baton Rouge, I’d only had thoughts of seeing my wife again.
“Sure, I’ll get right on that.”
She chuckled, then pressed her face against my chest and squeezed me tightly. “Course, I don’t care. I’ll happily take your stink. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
“You, too,” I replied, squeezing her in return. “I was so worried. Especially when I couldn’t reach you by phone.” I sighed. “Can’t tell you how relieved I was to get your text. Well, until I started freaking out that the zombies would get to you first.”
“Yeah, it was pretty crazy there for a while.” She pulled back a little. “And Azazel,” she prompted, “is she OK, too?” Her eyes filled with concern again.
“She’s fine,” I assured her. “Curled up in her carrier as we speak.”
I could suddenly hear a plaintive meow coming from the van behind me. Azazel had obviously heard her mama’s voice.
“Oh, thank God,” Clare said, exhaling heavily. “I hated being apart from you. Both of you. And you can’t imagine the messed-up thoughts that went through my mind.”
“Believe me, I can.” I smiled. “But we’re here now. Together again. And that’s all that matters.”
She nodded. “Speaking of… I wouldn’t mind seeing my daughter now.”
Azazel’s cries only loudened. Apparently, both Mama and Baby were eager for their overdue reunion.
Clare extricated herself from my arms and stepped toward the passenger-side door of our gore-covered zombie-mobile, which, much like me, looked and smelled worse in the morning light. As I unlocked the door and unbuckled the carrier, my wife surveyed our vehicle.
“Looks like you’ve been through a lot since I left you.”
“Yeah, it’s quite a story,” I agreed. “But let’s save it until after I’ve rested and maybe eaten something.”
“You got it, sweetums,” she said, her face brightening as I placed Azazel’s carrier onto her waiting forearms. “Oh, Tiny Tiger. I sure did miss you.”
Azazel purred loudly in response.
Balancing our thirteen-pound cat on one arm, Clare opened the small lid atop the carrier and rubbed Azazel’s furry head. The purring grew more pronounced, and my wife beamed with unabashed joy.
Unfortunately, her smile faltered a moment later.
“What is it?”
“Joe, I’m worried about Mom.” She bit her lip nervously, even as she continued to caress our furbaby. “She got scratched by one of the zombies when w
e were securing the front door.”
Fuck.
Immediately, I knew her mother would turn into a zombie and try to eat me. Hell, the woman had never really liked me, as evidenced by the disdainful looks, sarcastic comments, and snap judgments she often reserved for her only son-in-law. A zombified version of Jill would be truly terrifying – and it was a foregone conclusion that I would be her first meal.
“Don’t worry, baby,” I lied, turning away to secure the van. “I don’t think a scratch will do anything.”
When I faced Clare again, she didn’t respond, just stared into my eyes, as if striving to gauge the truth. Normally, she possessed topnotch lie-detecting abilities. She always seemed to notice the slight flare of my nostrils whenever I’d fib about buying junk food at the grocery store, or the twitch in my goatee whenever I’d deny forgetting to put the trash can out on the street, or the tiniest change in pitch whenever I’d pretend that her constant lateness didn’t drive me crazy.
In truth, I didn’t often attempt to deceive her. Clare was my best friend, and for the most part, I could tell her anything. Even if I thought another woman was attractive. In fact, she’d usually point out the hottest chicks first, whether we were watching a movie, exploring some exotic place, or simply strolling down Bourbon Street. Still, whenever I did try passing off a fib or a white lie, she always managed to detect the falsehood.
When it came to protecting her, though, or keeping her anxiety at bay, I could be a stone-cold, ace poker player: virtually unreadable. So, even though I suspected her mother’s scratch would soon evolve into a full-blown zombie infection, I kept my mouth shut and my tells under wraps. I simply wasn’t in the mood for such a fatalistic conversation, especially with curious zombies within earshot. As it was, we’d already pressed our luck by standing out in the open for so long.
Luckily, after a few seconds of studying my face, Clare merely sighed, secured the lid atop the carrier, and lowered Azazel by her side. Then, she clutched one of my hands and guided me toward the rear of her mother’s house.
Before leading me around the corner, Clare paused and glanced back at the hatchback. “I hope Bella’s OK.”
After deciding to drive to Baton Rouge on Halloween and try convincing her mother to head up north with us, Clare had borrowed the hatchback from a fellow student in her burlesque class. I had no idea if her friend was still alive, and frankly, I hadn’t considered the woman’s safety at all until Clare mentioned her.
I shrugged. “Couldn’t say, but I hope so, too.”
“At the very least, I hope she was able to leave town. Even without her car.”
Our eyes met again, and I could see the guilt and regret in hers. But how could she have guessed that the predicted zombie apocalypse would arrive a week early? It had obviously caught me by surprise, too – I still had the bloody knot on my head to prove it.
Her gaze suddenly flicked to a point over my shoulder. “Shit.”
Turning, I spotted three zombies stumbling up the driveway.
“Shit is right.”
Together, we darted through the back entrance of Jill’s house, which we immediately locked and then barricaded with the kitchen table.
And the fucking fun continues.
Chapter
14
“Sometimes, dead is better.” – Jud Crandall, Pet Sematary (1989)
“I’m too tired to fight off any more zombies,” Clare said, staring at the blocked entrance.
“You and me both,” I agreed, gazing around the dimly lit kitchen.
“Maybe if we’re quiet enough, they’ll just go away,” she suggested.
A few seconds passed, during which even Azazel seemed to hold her breath, and then we heard the telltale moaning. Three shadows staggered past the boarded-up window over the double sink.
“How well has that theory held up so far?” I asked with my typical snark.
“Smart ass,” she said, playfully smacking me on the shoulder.
Smirking, I said, “Well, I was planning for us to leave here soon. But maybe we should take some time to fortify the house, just to make sure it holds until we’re ready to go.”
“Mom and I blocked the windows and doors as best we could, but I’m sure they could all be better.”
With Azazel in tow, we retreated from the back door and began a thorough examination of the many entry points. Somehow, Clare and her mother had boarded up, blocked, or reinforced all the windows and doors in the house. Most of the wood they’d hastily used as protective barriers had come from Jill’s dining room table and china cabinet. Even with survival and self-preservation on the line, I couldn’t imagine Clare’s mother had approved of such destruction, not to mention all the nails that presently marred her perfectly painted walls.
Where is that witch anyhow?
I hadn’t anticipated a welcoming committee, of course, but I’d still expected to see her. With any luck, she was sleeping somewhere. I really had no desire to deal with an irate mother-in-law. I just didn’t have the energy.
Focus, Joe. Back to the current dilemma.
Despite the sacrifice of Jill’s furniture and furnishings, all their fortifications hadn’t amounted to much. A zombie had still managed to leave what would probably be a fatal scratch behind, and if the undead hordes returned, the doors and windows would eventually give way to the pressure of all those ravenous, decomposing creatures. Based on the size of that mob I’d just seen, I was actually shocked they hadn’t succumbed already.
Pausing in what remained of Jill’s dining room, I glanced toward the front door, which stood directly opposite the rear entrance. Although Clare and her mother had shoved the leather sofa against the entryway, I could see large cracks and holes in the wood. It likely wouldn’t have resisted the zombies for much longer, and if not for the generous assistance of that mysterious woman and her son, my wife and my mother-in-law might not have survived.
Their assailants would’ve busted through the door, pushed aside the couch, and flooded the house. With Clare’s quick thinking and resourcefulness, she and her mother might’ve endured by barricading themselves inside one of the bedrooms, but more than likely, I would’ve encountered either a zombified wife or a pile of gore vaguely resembling my soulmate.
Suddenly, I couldn’t shake the image of a bloody, half-devoured corpse on the carpet, with only Clare’s pentagram tattoo to indicate her identity.
“That’s where Mom got scratched,” Clare said, dispelling my morose thoughts.
I turned toward her. She stood beside her mother’s sideboard, clutching Azazel’s carrier and gazing at the front door.
“We were trying to move the couch to block the entryway. Jesus, that thing is heavy.” She sighed. “Anyway, just as we shoved it against the door, one of the zombies broke through the window and grabbed her arm. I hit it with a hammer, but it had already scratched her.”
She turned toward me, her expression expectant.
“It’ll be OK,” I assured her, hoping she’d still believe the lie.
Her eyes filled with tears again. “Joe, where were you? It’s been three days.”
She hadn’t said it in an accusatory way, but rather with concern and confusion. She stepped closer to me and, with her free hand, tenderly brushed through my matted hair. When she pulled her hand away, I spotted flakes of dried blood on her fingertips. Even in the murky dining room, it was hard to miss the sight of blood. And unfortunately, Clare spotted it, too.
She stared at me, her brow deeply furrowed. “What the hell happened to you?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, trying to shrug it off. “On Halloween night, I was standing in our kitchen when I heard a ruckus outside. Seemed worse than usual. So, I went to check it out, and a zombie pushed through the front gate.”
No doubt my nostrils were flaring.
“OK, I accidentally let it in,” I admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t know the shit had already hit the fan. Anyway, I managed to slam that axe you bought me into its
skull. That did the trick.”
“But, Joe, that was almost three days ago. Why did it take you so long to get here?”
“That would probably take a week to explain.”
She waited patiently, prompting me with her relentless gaze.
“My memory of that first night is a bit hazy. After killing the zombie, I think I might’ve tried pulling the axe out of its skull and ended up slipping on some of its blood. Knocked myself out on our steps.”
A familiar laugh erupted from the adjacent living room. Jill had obviously heard our entire conversation. Clare sighed, then shot me her customary be-nice look, a common occurrence whenever we visited her mother.
I followed my wife into the living room, where my soon-to-be-zombified-mother-in-law sat in front of her dormant fireplace, perched in an ultra-uncomfortable armchair that most people would’ve purchased for cosmetic reasons, not for actual sitting. An open book lay in her lap, though I doubted she’d found it easy to read in the diffused natural lighting that pervaded the house. Perhaps she just needed to do something normal after three days of dealing with undead mayhem.
Ignoring Jill’s snide expression, I turned back to Clare and continued my brief explanation.
“When I came to, I thought it was just the next morning… It wasn’t until much later that I realized I’d been unconscious for about thirty-six hours.”
“Great,” Jill mocked. “Our hero.”
“Good to see you, too, Jill.”
My mother-in-law merely smirked.
“Mom,” Clare said, “we should show Joe your scratch.”
Zombie Chaos Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 40
